


Rediscovering the Christmas Spirit

by Diana Williams (dkwilliams)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/Diana%20Williams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Duncan's friends get worried about his lack of Christmas spirit, Methos comes to the rescue – and gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rediscovering the Christmas Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amonitrate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amonitrate/gifts).



 

"You don't understand, Methos!" Amanda wailed to him on the phone.  "It's a week till Christmas, and Duncan hasn't done *anything* for Christmas!"

"So?" Methos said with a shrug, even if they couldn't see it.  He hoped they'd know how annoyed he was that they were interrupting his writing with their complaints.  "Maybe he's just not in a Christmas mood this year."

"We're talking about Mac," Joe said.  "Father Christmas himself.  He practically _invented_ Christmas."

Methos blinked.  Two of them chattering at him at once – they must be on the speaker phone in Joe's office.  Which meant that any moment, the third Stooge was going to chime in.

"Mac starts decorating the minute the Thanksgiving left-overs are put away," Richie said, and Methos mentally high-fived himself.  "Lights, tree, presents – the works.  This year, nothing."

"Ah-ha!  That's the reason for the panic.  Mac hasn't bought you lot any presents yet and you're getting worried."

"Methos!" Amanda said indignantly.  "We are not _just_ worried about ourselves!  We're worried about Duncan!  He's, well, he's not been himself lately."

Methos frowned.  It had been a tough couple of years, and stronger men than Duncan MacLeod had been bested by the kinds of losses he'd suffered.  "What do you mean, 'not himself'? Has he taken any odd Quickenings?  Lost any more 'family'?"

"No, nothing like that," Richie said hastily, and Methos could almost feel the shudder over the phone line.  "He's just…quieter than usual.  Like he's thinking about something."

"Well, _some_ people have been known to use their heads for something other than holding up a bike helmet," Methos said tartly.

"The kid is right," Joe said.  "Mac's been thinking about something, thinking hard, but he doesn't seem to be _brooding_ exactly."

Methos snorted.  "You're right, there's definitely something wrong.  If Mac isn't brooding, he's obviously been replaced – check for a pod in the basement."

"Very funny, wise guy."

"So, do something about it.  If Mac isn't doing Christmas for himself, make him do it for _you_.  You know how easy he is to guilt trip."

"Well, that's part of the problem," Amanda said hesitantly.  "You see, I'm leaving town tonight – spending Christmas with Nick."

"And I'm going to Amy's tomorrow – "

"And I've got big plans with my girl," Richie interrupted.  "Out of town plans."

"So all of you have plans taking you out of town, and you're wondering why Mac hasn't got the Christmas spirit?" Methos said sardonically.

"It's not like that, pal," Joe protested.  "Mac knows we'd change our plans if he really wanted us here, but he doesn't.  I don't know what it is he wants or needs, but it ain't us."

"And you think _I_ know what he needs?  In case it has slipped your mind, I've been half-way across the world for the past year!"

Half way around the world from the man who had been, all too briefly, his lover.  Before Kronos, before Byron, before MacLeod had refused to bend to the realities of the world around them.  More than distance and time had separated them, in the end, even before Methos had decided to stop hoping for something that would never happen and had taken refuge in his island paradise.

"Which is perfect!" Amanda said brightly. 

"Fresh new eyes on the subject, buddy," Joe agreed.

Methos rubbed his hand across his face.  "Just tell me – what's the weather like in Seacouver right now?"

"Snowing," Richie said with a laugh.  "Like, about a foot so far, and more in the forecast."

Methos looked out mournfully across his sunlit veranda, across the beach towards the sparkling blue ocean and sighed.  "Of course it's snowing, and of course there will be more."

 

*****************

From the surprised look on MacLeod's face when he opened the door, Methos deduced that the other three hadn't let him in on their Intervention plan. 

"Methos!  This is…unexpected," MacLeod said, not moving from where he stood blocking the doorway.  "I thought you'd be lounging on the beach of that island of yours, soaking up the sun and drinking frivolous fruit drinks."

Methos abruptly decided to change his plan to be subtle and to tackle the MacLeod problem head-on.  "Happy birthday," he said, handing MacLeod the expensive bottle of whiskey that he'd purchased on the way over.  "I heard you'd lost the Christmas spirit and I'm here to help you find it again."

"Jacob Marley, I presume?" MacLeod said, stepping back and making room for Methos to enter the flat.  "Should I expect three more spirits during the night?  Although I didn't think that you were much for Christmas yourself."

Methos set his bag down by the couch and looked around the room.  The others were right – there wasn't a sign of any Christmas festivities anywhere in the place. In fact, it looked obsessively tidy, like MacLeod had been clearing out the place.

"Heading back to Paris soon?" he guessed.  It certainly looked like MacLeod was planning on going _somewhere_.

MacLeod shrugged.  "Sold the barge, actually.  Paris is a bit too empty these days.  I was thinking about doing some traveling, seeing new places, old friends."

Their eyes met and, for a moment, Methos thought he saw…something that he thought he'd seen, years ago.  Before Duncan had said that he didn't really know him.  And then it was gone, and he couldn't be sure that it had ever been there, and MacLeod was acting like the consummate host, ushering him into the loft and pulling out bedding for the couch (the couch, not the bed), offering him a nightcap and a hot shower, talking about the latest goings-on with their friends and yet saying nothing of consequence.

And as Methos lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling through the darkness, he had to agree that MacLeod wasn't acting like his usual self.  What he didn't know was whether that was a good or bad thing.

**************

Methos began his plan of attack early the next morning.  And, from the look on MacLeod's face, it was a move that he hadn't expected.

"You want to cut down a tree?  You?" MacLeod said, staring at him across the breakfast table.  "Somehow, you never struck me as the woodsman type."

Methos feigned an insulted look at that.  "I'll have you know, I spent much of my life in the Great Outdoors.  And what better way to get into the Christmas spirit than by hunting down the perfect tree ourselves?  Fresh air, the scent of pine…"

 _Not to mention the needles getting everywhere, and one's toes freezing off in this thrice-damned cold, and where is a bloody Saint Bernard with a brandy keg when you need one?_ Methos thought several hours later as he trudged behind MacLeod and pretended to peruse the foliage around him.

"Methos, what do you think of this one?" MacLeod asked, stopping in front of what must have been the twentieth tree he'd sized up.  "It's got good height, and a nice shape…"

Methos peered at the tree, trying in vain to see what was different about this tree as compared to the others that had been rejected. 

"Never mind – it's got a bare spot on this side.  Unless we put it up against the wall…no, the trunk is also crooked right there at the top."  MacLeod turned toward Methos, shrugged, and smiled.  "We'll just keep looking.  It's all about the Perfect Tree, right?"

Methos looked down at the saw in his hand and debated if he could get MacLeod to stay still long enough to saw his head off. 

****************

By the time they got the tree off the car and up to the loft, Methos was seriously considering getting on the next plane home – if he could get feeling back in his toes.  After hauling up the boxes and boxes of decorations that MacLeod had stashed away in storage rooms, he had appended that plan to include not answering the phone for the next decade or two. 

Hours later, after the loft had been decorated to the rafters and the tree was staggering under the weight of its decorations, Methos collapsed on the couch with a beer and wondered if he was going to survive the plan to restore MacLeod's Christmas spirit.

And just how much spirits he was going to need to imbibe to recover his own.

**************

Methos circled the parking lot of the mega-super-store and scowled as someone cut him off in his search for a parking spot.  It looked like all of Seacouver and the surrounding three states had turned out for the Better-Than-Black-Friday-Sale.  "This was much easier in the old days," he complained to MacLeod who was idly looking out the window, as if he had nothing better to do than circle a parking lot full of irate would-be shoppers.  "Just pop over to the local bazaar, pick up some frankincense or myrrh, and…"

"Don't tell me you were one of the three Wise Men."

Methos snorted.  "Wise men?  They couldn't even follow a simple map, had to stop and ask for directions.  Although Balthasar was a great drinking buddy – the stories he could tell when he'd been into the wine!"

He sighted a car pulling out and beat a minivan full of kids getting to it.  As they entered the store, he turned to MacLeod and said, "Now, as for your shopping list, where should we start?  Amanda is probably the easiest – jewelry.  Richie would probably like one of those Ipods, and Joe – "

"Adam," MacLeod interrupted and when Methos turned to him, he shrugged.  "I actually did all of my shopping months ago."

Methos felt a headache coming on.  "You did."

"Yes.  Wrapped and mailed them, too." 

Methos glared at him.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

MacLeod shrugged.  "You didn't ask."

Silently, Methos turned and led the way back to the parking lot, totally ignoring MacLeod as he asked "Adam?  Didn't you want to buy something?  Adam?" 

As he pulled out of the parking space, a familiar looking minivan zipped into his space and he resisted the urge to flip the driver off.

The day wasn't a total loss, though.  As a consolation, MacLeod took him out for a magnificent champagne brunch and picked up the check.

************

Methos looked around the loft, at the softly twinkling lights on the tree, the pine boughs festooning the window sills, the gently flickering candles - and the Scot brooding on the couch.  He sighed.  Whatever it was that had put a crimp on MacLeod's Christmas spirit, it hadn't been fixed yet. 

He looked down at wassail he was making and then at the bottle on the counter, and mentally shrugged.  It couldn't hurt, he thought as he added another cup of rum into the mixture and stirred.

"Here you go, Mac," he said as he handed MacLeod a mug of the spiced – and spiked – punch.  "My own secret recipe – good for what ails you."  He settled at the other end of the couch with his own generous mug and took a revivifying swallow of it.

MacLeod took a tentative sip and choked.  "Well, that answers the question of 'where's the rum?'.  How much did you put in this?"

"You can never have too much rum," Methos said with a sage nod. "So," he said, staring at MacLeod over the top of his own mug as the other man took a few healthy sips of his own mug, "What _is_ ailing you?"

"Would you believe me if I said 'nothing'?"

Methos gave him a Look.  "No holiday decorations?  No seasonal cheer?  No plans to assemble the extended MacLeod clan for a Christmas celebration to rival that of Victorian times?"

MacLeod looked up at him, an appraising look that caught and held Methos' attention.  "Maybe that was because I wasn't planning on staying here over the holidays."

Methos could feel his mouth drop open in chagrin.  "Bloody hell!  Why didn't you tell me you had plans?  I wouldn't have imposed on your hospitality – "

"You aren't an imposition," MacLeod said, setting down his mug.  Then he took Methos' mug and set it down on the table and leaned close.  Methos' breath caught at the intense look in the other man's eyes.  "In fact, _you_ were my plans."

"Me?" Methos was pleased that his voice hadn't squeaked as he said that, but it was hard to maintain any kind of calm with MacLeod so close, close enough to kiss if he just leaned forward an inch or two.

"You."  MacLeod leaned back and Methos didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed at the reprieve.  MacLeod pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it onto Methos' lap, and as Methos looked down, he saw it was a brightly colored airline packet.

"Airline tickets, from Seacouver to Hawaii, then a charter to that little island you call home these days."

Methos picked up the packet, then looked up at MacLeod.  "You were coming to see me for Christmas?  Why?"

MacLeod looked away, not meeting Methos' eyes.  "Things have been a little too quiet around here lately.  I missed you.  I missed _us_.  And – not just for Christmas.  I'm ready to make a change."  He turned back and leaned close to Methos again.  "If you'll still have me."

"Mac," Methos said softly, before leaning forward that inch or two.  " _Duncan_."  And then they were kissing, and there was no need to say anything else.

**********

Methos slipped from under Duncan's arm and out of bed.  It was early morning, not even light yet, and only the soft glow from the tree lights lit up the room, but it was enough to see to navigate the room.  He pulled out the Christmas present he'd hidden under the couch pillows and slipped it under the tree, waiting for Duncan to unwrap it later that morning.  It was the white sweater that they'd stolen back and forth from each other, and Methos knew that Duncan would understand the message.

On his way back to bed, his eyes fell on the airline packet and he picked it up, flipping it open to see what Duncan's itinerary had been and whether it would be possible to exchange the tickets.  Inside, he found a note in an all too familiar handwriting.

 _Darling, sorry for the trick but we just had to do something!  Merry Christmas, Methos, and Happy New Year to you both!  Love, Amanda_

Inside were two first class tickets instead of one, for the day after Christmas.  He smiled and set the packet down under the tree, then made his way back to the bed and Duncan, and set about rediscovering the Joy of the Season.

Again.

 

 

The End


End file.
